


The Lycan's Prisoner

by WriterAnonymous



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek, Dark Derek, Dark fic, Falling In Love, Hurt/Comfort, Intense, King Derek, Love/Hate, M/M, Mate Stiles, Mates, Possessive Derek, Slash, Slave Stiles, Slow Build, Violent Derek, Wolf Derek
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-12
Updated: 2017-01-06
Packaged: 2018-05-13 10:23:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5704180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WriterAnonymous/pseuds/WriterAnonymous
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone dies in the games. Once you enter the ring with the beast, it will never let you leave it, at least not alive. They all die in the games, all but one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sapphiamur](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sapphiamur/gifts).



> Warning: I want this fiction to be dark! I've already taken a try at the slightly fluffier side of Sterek and in this story I really wanted a chance to explore the dark werewolf aspect of things. I want this to be gritty and full of angst and passion and romance. You have been warned.  
> Anyone wondering where the third installment of Aggressive is, it will be posted Thursday. Thank you for your patience.  
> Theoderek is Derek and Stiles' name will be Mezekiel for this writing however, he will be called Stiles for the majority of the fiction.  
> This story is again inspired by a fanvideo. This time around it was an amazing piece of work by Sapphiamur called Hales Emissary. My story line and hers are completely different however her video really made me want to write up something action-packed and emotional. If you haven't seen the video here's the link. You're welcome.  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=f0ALAh4nz3c  
> Last thing, I am creating a spotify playlist for this story. I believe music really adds to the authenticity of the characters. It gives you a more in-depth experience as to how the characters might be feeling in that chapter. That being said, my song inspiration for the prologue was Belong by Cary Brothers. I think this is such a beautiful piece of music and really fitting for the beginning of this story.

 Derek sprinted through the thick trees at a brisk pace enjoying the cool wind whipping around his wolfs form. Above, the full moon shone down on him her bright rays enveloping him in a warm embrace. He'd never tire of this. His lycan form was a strong and muscular build, so unlike his human form which hadn't even reached puberty yet. All of 10 years old, Derek was still waiting for his first chest hair to sprout and for the rest of his body to catch up to his long, gangly legs. As a wolf, Derek was graceful and agile, it was no surprise that he preferred this manifestation much more.

  
 In the distance a wolf howled, loud in clear in the crisp night air. Derek bolted in the direction eagerly, building speed with every stride. He could see where the trees separated ahead of him creating a clearing, in the center of it sat a beautiful snowy-white wolf.

  
 "Mother" he reached out with his mind searching for the strong telepathic bond he shared with his kin. 

  
 "Theoderek" came the warm tones of his mother echoing inside his mind. "Your shift was immaculate. You've really improved my son"

  
 If Derek were in his human form he'd be flushed with pride at his mother's praise. They'd been practicing relentlessly for many full orbs of night. Derek thought that maybe he stood a chance at turning at will now and not just on a full moon. As he entered the clearing he leapt into the air, his silhouette changing form effortlessly back into that of a young boy. Barefoot he gracefully touched down onto the soft carpet of grass, drawing himself up to face his mother self-satisfied that he'd done well.  
"You've made me so proud, Theoderek. You'll make a fine wolf and an even finer King" she spoke softly through the bond.

  
 Derek turned his hopeful face to the sky and spread his arms wide, enjoying the moon's soft caress and an overwhelming sense of belonging. An owl could be heard somewhere in the trees surrounding them and he knew he belonged here, in the wild, amongst the other creatures of the night.

  
 Not until the tell-tale signs of dawn began to make their appearance did Derek and his mother return home. They made quick work of entering the castle through one of the many hidden passageways his mother had shown him and soon after arrived at the entrance to his chambers, hidden behind a portrait.

  
 "Remember my son, you mustn't tell anyone. This has to stay our secret. " his mother said in a hushed but very serious tone. "If anyone were to find out about us--"

  
 "I understand, Mother. Our secret."

  
 "For your own protection Theoderek."

  
 "Yes Mother. I swore it."

  
 His mother, Talia, Queen of Scotland, nodded her head satisfied.

  
 "Yes, I suppose you did. I love you, sweet child."

  
 Derek smiled in return, "I love you as well, Mother"

  
 With that Talia turned and headed back down the passageway to her own bedchamber. Closing the hidden door and making sure the tapestry that concealed it was hanging neatly Derek padded across his rooms to throw himself atop his furs. Burying down into them he pulled his hands up to his face for close inspection. They were filthy, as they always were after he returned from an excursion with the moon. Concentrating he focused solely on his nails willing his claws to extract. Slowly his nails began to elongate, turning black and razor sharp. He dragged the claw of one finger across the palm of the opposite hand, making a shallow cut as he went and watching it heal quickly as if it had never existed. He'd never tire of that. Derek loved his wolf. Loved what he was. He couldn’t understand why his mother was so frightened of anyone discovering their secret. They were werewolves. Derek thought it was brilliant. Talia had cautioned him however that the rest of their family and their subjects would not find it quite as endearing as he did. She spoke of how the others would proclaim them witches. Demons even. Warned him from sharing what they were with anyone, even his Majesty the King, Derek's own father. It had been almost a year since him and his mother had noticed that he was fated to the same curse as she had been. Both foredoomed to change form every full moon. Letting his nails return to normal Derek shoved both his hands beneath the silky, warm pelts and closed his eyes, letting sleep claim him at last.

 

  
***

 

  
 Derek was 12 when it happened. He sat with his mother, holding her cold, clammy hand desperately in his own and whispering feverishly spoken nonsense words of comfort in her ear. His father was standing behind him, a heavy hand on his shoulder. They both knew that the fever that claimed Talia would take her life. The physicians had done all they could and now all they could do was enjoy the time they had left together. The King was a brisk man who showed little to no emotion, marrying only to produce an heir and nothing more, but Derek was glad to have him there all the same. He didn't feel so alone with the reassuring pressure of the Kings hand on his back.

  
 It happened without warning. One moment Derek had been clasping her hand and the next she was heaving the contents of her stomach all over the floor. The raven haired teen had flew back from his mother, knocking into the King to avoid being hit by the offending liquid.

  
 "Mother!" He gasped rushing forward once he realized something was definitely not right. The fluid that had left her mouth was pitch black. It dribbled from her lips down her chin and neck, onto her dressing gown.

  
 "Mother no! You're going to be-its..." His hands fumbled to wipe the black mess from his mothers face when she snapped her mouth at him loudly. Her teeth just barely missed grazing Derek's hand as he pulled it to his body and glanced wide eyed at his mother in horror. His beautiful, kind mother who had dedicated her life to keeping her secret (now their secret) hidden was changing before his eyes...and the Kings. Talia's eyes were blazing a brilliant and startling crimson, her face twisting and contorting as her nose elongated into a snout and her mouth filled with the sharp and gleaming teeth of a predator.

  
 " What in the blazing hell!" The King had shouted in terror as he stared at the half turned form of Talia. She was foaming at the mouth now, a crazy glint in her eyes.

  
 "Guards!" The King shouted grabbing his sons arm in a vice-like grip and backing towards the exit.

  
 Two men burst through the doors, unsheathing their swords before they'd even caught a glimpse of their Queen. Talia was across the room and pouncing on one of them before they had time to register what was happening. She tore into his neck roughly with her teeth, ripping out a chunk and spitting it out as the guard fell to the floor. Without a second thought she advanced on the second one.

  
 "No! Mother stop!" Derek shouted out desperately resisting the Kings sharp tugs to draw him from the slaughter.

  
 Talia's head whipped in his direction and Derek seen no recognition in that gaze. His mother was gone. An evil and demented smile graced her bloody face and she growled before leaping his way. Derek dodged her sending himself flying into a stone wall in the process. Talia stumbled momentarily before regaining balance and advancing on him again. Derek readied himself to shift and defend himself, to scared to think logically about what that would mean if his father saw him, when this monster baring his mothers face went completely still before pitching forward and hitting the floor with a loud thud.

  
 Standing in the doorway to his mother's chambers stood a tall man with short grey hair and striking grey eyes. He held a small bow and approached Talia's motionless body purposely. Leaning down over her form he plucked something small from the back of her neck.

  
 "Tranquillizer dart." He said meaningfully staring at the surprised faces around him.

  
 "Christopher!" The King exclaimed heaving a sigh of relief. "Thank god you arrived when you did. The guard... my son was going to be next..." he trailed off surveying the guard who lay dead in a pool of his own blood on the floor before continuing "The Queen, a demon has staked its claim over her."

  
 Derek let out a cry of anguish. His mother had been right. She would be named a demon this day. His mother. His sweet, sweet mother. He felt bile rise in his throat and he raised his hand to his mouth to stop it but it was to late. He vomited all over his hand and the already sullied floor. His eyes began to water and the floor was rising up at him, then everything went black.

 

  
***

 

  
 When Derek awoke it was in his own chambers and to the sound of desperate screams. Smoke was in the air and chanting could be heard getting louder and louder, rising above the shrieking sounds of a woman in severe pain. Pain was throbbing between his ears making it hard for Derek to concentrate on anything but it didn't take him long to catch on to what was happening. Stumbling out of bed he ran as fast as his weakened legs would take him from his room and out the castle doors, into the courtyard. Out here the smoke was thick and muggy but he knocked people out of his way desperately headed in the direction of the screams trying to block out the chanting. Finally he could see it. A stake engulfed in burning, flickering flames and right in the center of them, his mother. Her mouth was wrenched open in a chilling wail, her flesh burning and pealing before his eyes.

  
 "No!" He cried fighting to get past the guards, beating on their chests furiously. It took four to keep him at bay, his young werewolf strength not enough to make it past them.

 "Mother no! Someone please. Someone please help her!" He could barely hear himself amongst all his mother's desperate screams or the merciless chanting of the spectators.

  
 His eyes watered as he stared up at his one confidant in this world, helpless to do anything while she died a slow and painful death. Suddenly filled with rage the young man's eyes seeked another's in the crowd. Finally his gaze settled on the cold, empty ones of The King and he sent him a glare he wished could kill the man on the spot. The chanting finally broke through in his mind and he could focus on the one word being repeated over and over again. Demon. His eyes still locked on The Kings he mouthed the one word along with the crowd. Demon.


	2. Impending Fate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Violence and mature matter.  
> Music accompanying this chapter are  
> :Cold by Jorge Mendez (Beautiful and sad instrumental piece. Very fitting for the first bit of the chapter.)  
> :Shadow of the Day by Linkin Park  
> :Breathe Me by Sia  
> Personally I believe music helps you enjoy the story better. If you have time please take a listen while you read.  
> Mezekiel is Stiles in this story. Name change to come soon.  
> If you enjoy the story please leave a review :)

 Mezekiel stared sullenly down at the pale and sweaty face of his father, dabbing desperately at his forehead with a damp rag. His father was shaking with a fever so bad, Mezekiel was worried his back would break from it's brutal convulsing against the pieces of board they had laid beneath the straw to form a bed. The man had been sick for some time now, everyday that passed leeching more and more life out of the man. No colour remained in his face. His eyes, once a remarkable blue, were now a dull and solemn grey, his cheeks and lips the colour of parchment. Folding the rag and placing it gently on his father's head, Mezekiel continued to gaze sadly into the face Johnathon Stilinski, a face he could barely recognize. He smoothed his hands against ashen cheeks, lightly tracing the hollows he found there, dragging a finger over the purplish bruise like shadows beneath the sunken eyes.

  
 "My dad" he whispered brokenly, not for the first time feeling his tough exterior crumble from beneath him.

  
 "My son" a voice croaked unevenly back at him. His father's eyes were peering up at him from half-shut lids. "Do not grieve Mezekiel, I'm not dead yet."

  
 Despite the obvious quaking the man was doing from beneath the one pitiful sheet they owned, he still managed the same stern tone Mezekiel had grown up being scolded by. Just the memory of how proud John had once stood was enough to chip away another layer of his mental wall but he attempted to manage a small smile anyway, for his father's sake.

  
 "That's my boy" the older man mumbled out allowing his eyes to drift shut once more.

  
 Mezekiel was spared having any-more time to wallow in his grief as the shabby door to his home was forcefully pushed open and a young woman, soaked to the bone from the harsh rains outside, rushed in banging the door shut behind her. Long masses of tangled auburn hair swung around her face as she turned to face Mezekiel. Her green eyes were large and wild with fear.

  
 "Please don't let them take me!" She shrieked, backing away from the door and farther into the two bedroom house. 

  
 "Shh" Mezekiel said standing and trying not to let panic set in from the girls frightened words. "Who's trying to take you?"

  
 Her mouth a quivering mess, she whispered one word, "Snatchers."

  
 Mezekiel's throat thickened with a hot panic. Snatchers was a well deserved name earned by the select same palace guards that approached the villages once a month in search of young women with no immediate or distant relatives to speak of. Once they left, they were never seen or heard from again. No one knew what happened to them, although there were certainly enough stories circulating to keep the village people's imaginations busy. The most current one being that the King kept a deadly beast chained deep beneath the castle and that he kept it appeased by feeding it a pretty young thing once a month.

  
 Swallowing hard Mezekiel eyed the woman before him. She was panting harshly from the running and fear, no doubt. Her green eyes were silently begging him to help her. He had to at least try. Rushing towards the only other room his house had, he threw open the door and ushered the green eyed girl in quickly, shutting the door just before hooves could be heard right outside his home. Hurrying to his father's side he knelt just as his front door was kicked open. Not being a very sturdy or reliable sort of door it fell to the ground with a large thump, shaking the floor to the tiny house and causing his father to shudder back to consciousness.

  
 "Mezekiel?" he muttered weakly through a mouthful of chattering teeth.

  
 "I'm here, father" the boy murmured back placing a hand on the elder man's chest, watching as a tall, brunette man, dressed head to toe in armor, let himself into their home. The man, as broad as he was tall, gave them a chilling smile. It was as cold as the draft that was entering the home through the kicked in door.

  
 "I do believe you have something that belongs to The King" the brunette drawled lowly, a dangerous glint in his eyes. Mezekiel noted how he had one hand rested on the hilt of his sword casually.

   
 "Oh?" Was all he said continuing to clench his fingers in his father's sweat drenched shirt.

  
 The snatcher ignored him, striding across the room purposely to the only barrier that stood between them and that women.

  
 "You won't mind if I take a look?" He asked, already pushing the door open roughly. A squeal of pain could be heard as the door smacked into the woman who must have been hiding right behind it. Another yelp followed as the guard strode in and pulled out the fair skinned woman by a few locks of red hair.

  
 "Please, help me!" The girl cried in Mezekiel's direction frantically.

  
 Glancing down at his father quickly showed him that the man had left consciousness once more and his gaze shot quickly back to the woman who was now being hauled out of the house by her long tresses. Making a quick and probably foolish decision Mezekiel followed the two out of the house and into the gloomy and stormy afternoon.

  
 "Release her" he demanded, hoping he sounded more resilient then he felt.

  
 Turning to face him with a cruel, taunting smile, the snatcher answered, " I don’t like your tone, peasant. Perhaps you need to be taught some manners."

 Using the hold he had on the young woman's hair, he threw her forcefully into the side of the house where she collapsed in a silent heap. As the man began advancing on Mezekiel he stood his ground and kept his gaze locked on the snatcher even as the man threw a punch that landed him right in the jaw. Staggering back a few steps from the brunt of it the younger boy quickly found his footing again. His chin still stung sharply from the blow but he refused to back down.

  
 "She doesn't want to go with you." Mezekiel spat out fiercely, wiping at the rain that was dripping into his eyes.

  
 The man laughed viciously, "They never do, boy. Not my problem." This time he pushed the younger man with both hands hard enough to send him sprawling into the mud next to the woman.

  
 "Ah, she is a beauty though isn't she?" The snatcher murmured quietly, kneeling down and stroking the unconscious girls bared thigh. "Keep her for myself if I didn't think I'd make a bit extra by bringing back a piece such as she." 

  
 "She's just a girl!" Mezekiel growled out as he felt disgust begin to boil in the pit of his stomach.

  
 "Aye, that she is" the man said eyeing up the exposed skin leading down to the woman's breasts while fisting his hand in her hair again and yanking her up by it. Startling awake from the rough treatment the woman began her struggling once more, kicking and scratching at the man as he hauled her over to his horse.

  
 "Please, please! Let me free!"

  
 Scrambling to his own feet, clothes and hands slick from the muddy ground, Mezekial ran for the horse, pulling out the tiny dagger he'd received from his dad on his 12th birthday. As he reached the pair he held the tiny blade out before him in what he could only hope was a threatening manner. "Let her go," he said, the arm he had extended shaking madly, but he never lowered his weapon.

  
 The other man, who was now seated in the saddle with the woman over his lap stomach first, hands bound behind her back and a gag shoved tightly in her mouth, leered down at Mezekiel a tight smile making its way across his gruesome features. "You are a stupid little shite aren't you? You dare to threaten me? You dare to question the orders of your King?"

  
 "I said, let her go!" Mezekiel cried taking a step forward and slashing his small knife swiftly through the sheets of pouring rain and stabbing deep into the man's leg. The snatcher let loose a roar into the grey sky, scaring his steed into rising up onto its hind legs, causing both its rider and captive to be tossed to the ground.

  
  The older man rose to his feet quickly and advanced on Mezekiel with a speed that was astonishing for a man that still had a dagger sticking out of his leg.

  
 "You cunt, I'll see that you lose a hand for that!" He began to unsheathe his sword.

 "Lucien! What is the meaning of this!"

  
 A horde of snatchers had approached, unheard amongst the storm and Mezekiel's own racing heart. A beefy looking man led them, sitting tall and impressive atop his horse. His ginger hair was plastered to his head from the rain, and drops of water clung from his long, scraggly beard. Blue eyes flickered from where Mezekiel and this man, Lucien, stood, to the heap that was the bound woman, unmoving in the mud.

  
 Lucien dropped his sword back into it's sheath but kept his hard brown eyes focused on Mezekiel, even as he addressed the other man "This filthy savage attacked me, Garreth."

  
 The red-headed man, Garreth, let out a hearty chuckle while gazing at the small dagger still implanted in the other man's leg.

  
 "Aye, so he did."

  
 "Is something funny, Bowen?" Lucien lilted out dangerously.

  
 "Just pack up the girl and be done with it, Lucien. I've already secured the other while you've been over here dog fucking."

  
 Speaking through gritted teeth, the brunette continued glaring angrily at Mezekiel, "and what of the boy, Garreth? He questions, His Majesty, the King. He thought to fight me for the female."

  
 Sparing no glance at the boy in question, the ginger answered, "there's always room for one more in The Games." With that he nodded his hand to a few men closest and they climbed down off their horses, striding towards Mezekiel, one holding a club, the other a thick rope.

  
 Mezekiel had heard of The Games before. Everyone in his village knew it was a fancy term for slaughterhouse. If they captured him, he wouldn't ever be back. If they captured him, his father would surely die. Turning sharply on his heel the young man began to run but the rain was still pounding down harshly and the ground was slick with fresh mud. He didn't make it far before a club hit him hard in the back of the head and black filled his vision.  

 

  
***

 

  
 The air was stifling. Hot, muggy and uncomfortable. Why couldn't he breathe? He was aware of a sharp pain in the back of his head, another in his ribs. A moan escaped his lips. There was a buzz in his ears, dull at first but growing louder by the second, creating a throbbing in his head. So much pain, so much noise. Slowly he peeked open one eye and then the other, blinding light increasing the ache in his head. Reaching his hands up to rub at his temples he surveyed the scene around him. He was in a shallow pit of some sort and everywhere he looked there were people. Hundreds of well dressed men, women and children filled the stands above him, their cheering loud and ringing in his ears. Around him boys of all shapes and sizes were either pacing, sitting, fighting one another or crying. One young man, couldn't be much older then Mezekiel himself, sat on the ground across from him, staring sadly at the sand. Catching the man's eye he asked quietly, "Where are we?"

  
 The frown on the other young mans face only deepened. "You stupid in the head or something? What does it look like? The Games, of course. We're all dying here."

  
 Just like that a sinking fear engulfed Mezekiel. What of his father? Who would make sure he was fed? Who would light the fireplace and break his fever? Setting his jaw stubbornly and rising from the sand Mezekiel attempted and failed to wipe the crusted mud from his filthy clothes. "I won't be, not if I can help it. Where are the weapons?"

  
 Scoffing in astonishment the other boy nodded to a pile of sticks stacked in one corner of the pit. Thanking him, Mezekiel wove around the other men in the pit, eyeing the sticks incredulously. He'd heard the games involved a great monstrous and vicious beast, insatiable for human flesh. How were they to stand a chance with a few thin pieces of wood? 'I suppose that's the point,' Mezekiel thought dully. He truly was marching to his death.

  
 A deafening horn sounded just as Mezekiel picked a stick that seemed a little more sturdy than the rest. "Welcome loyal subjects Kerasena! Are you all ready to see some blood spilt today?!" A loud voice boomed from somewhere far above the pit. In the stands the crowds were on their feet, screaming and cheering wildly. Mezekiel cringed in disgust. And he'd been labelled the savage.

  
 "Well then my friends, I shall not keep you waiting. Release the wolf!" The voice said boisterously.

  
 Mezekiel's eyes darted to the other end of the stadium to where the doors had opened and a large creature exited them. Mezekiel could feel the fear in the pit surrounding him, trying to suck him in, he wouldn't yield to it, his father needed him. The beast, the wolf, was an immense, black mass of muscles and teeth. It paced around the stadium slowly, surveying its audience. Gripping his stick tighter, Mezekiel tried not to be intimidated by the wolf's size. Standing at around 6 feet, it was easily taller then Mezekiel himself.

  
 "Release the first competitor!" The loud voice cried excitedly.

  
 One of the guards that had been looming quietly in the shadows by the door stepped forward grabbing the boy closest.

  
 "No! The boy cried struggling fiercely in the guards grasp. "Please no!"

  
 Mezekiel's eyes met with the boy he'd spoken with earlier briefly before returning to the other boy and the guard as they were approached by a second guard. With a man on each arm the boy was forced hastily through the stadium doors before they were roughly closed behind him. From the pit Mezekiel watched the man as he bolted through the stadium toward one of the walls, obviously going to attempt to climb out, even if the walls were low enough for him to escape over them he never would have outrun the wolf. The beast was across the stadium before the lad had run 5 feet and pounced on him from behind, knocking him to the ground effectively. He didn't even have a chance for one more scream before the wolf sunk his teeth into his neck brutally and ripped a chunk out fiercely. The crowd went wild. Mezekiel felt sick. He avoided watching any-more of the slaughters, dragging his stick through the sand while he tried to drown out the shrieks of fear going on in the stadium.

  
 "Your up, lad" a voice said as his arm was grabbed roughly and he was wrenched up from his place in the sand.

 Looking around him Mezekiel discovered the guard was right, he wasn't just next, he was last.

 Shaking the guards firm hold from his arm he clenched his stick firmly in his fist and made his way through the doors and into the stadium with his shoulders thrown back and head held high. The wolf wasted no time, seemingly bored of this game, and bounded quickly towards him. Raising his stick before him defensively, Mezekiel held his ground. To his surprise the wolf stopped just before him, striking blue eyes focused on him with an odd intelligence glowing within. He circled Mezekiel slowly, as if trying to decipher something. The young man kept his stick held out turning as the beast did, never giving it his back. Acting on instinct he flung his arm back and then forward again hitting the wolf in the snout hard enough to break skin. A wave of surprise could be heard from amongst the otherwise speechless crowd. The wolf's eyes narrowed dangerously and a snarl escaped its mouth before it used its tail to knock Mezekiel's stick from his hand. Mezekiel's gaze followed the piece of wood to where it fell out of his reach and he dove for it madly only to have the wolf crash into him, knocking him into the sand as it sat holding him still with the weight of its immense body. Again the wolf's blue eyes bore into him and Mezekiel felt the rush of panic leaving his body. His fists that had been pounding on the beasts broad chest ceased their movement, instead tangling in the incredibly soft fur he found there. He lost track of all sense and reason and the stadium began to melt away until all he could focus on was the wolf. He was eyeing him up almost tenderly? His head was lowering until he was nuzzling Mezekiel's neck and the overwhelming stench of blood filled his nose and still the boy couldn't bring himself to fight. He was sure that the wolf was sniffing him now and all he could bring himself to do was raise a hand from where it lay stroking the fur on the wolf's chest and attempt to place it on his neck. Just like that the spell was broken. Breaking away from Mezekiel as if burnt, the wolf gave him one more lingering stare, blood from its earlier kills crusting on its muzzle, before turning away and striding slowly to the door where he had entered, a moment passed and the door was opened to let the wolf through. Mezekiel stared wide eyed as he was left in the stadium alone, not sure what had just occurred.


	3. Feel Real

 Fresh blood spilt always filled Theoderek with an undeniable rush of power. Blood spilled of his own doing? Even better. His wolf needed it. Thrived on it. Nothing felt better. His heart was pounding hard inside his broad beasts chest and he breathed in deeply the metallic, intoxicating scent of others blood, adrenaline rushing through his veins. Something else was permeating his senses. Something sweet underneath the overpowering stench of the gore surrounding him. His head whipped around wildly in search of the questioning scent as the doors grated open to let in his next victim. From across the stadium Theoderek saw him enter and paused as his senses were overwhelmed. A young man walked rigidly into the ring, covered head to toe in filth and welding a slim branch out before him. He stood tall, outwardly hiding his fear well but Theoderek recognized the scent of terror leaking from his pores. Could smell the offending odor from across the vast arena. Fear wasn't the only thing filling his nose however, that pleasantly sweet scent had doubled and now he knew the source of it. Eyes locked firmly on the puzzling creature before him, he sprinted from one end of the vast arena to the other, expertly dodging the fallen bodies of the previous contestants. Theoderek couldn't help but be impressed as the young man held his ground, doing nothing more than raising his useless stick, preparing to defend himself. Theoderek couldn’t say why but he knew that this one wouldn't need to be defending himself. At least not today. Now that he stood before the young man and had determined that he wouldn’t be wringing the life from the tender body before him Theoderek was unsure of how to proceed. The mixed scents wafting from the boy were messing with his normally sharp senses. Fear was a scent that under any other circumstance filled the wolf with pride and power . A sign that he was in control. This time however Theoderek felt his gut twist at the stench and inwardly flinched upon realizing he was very uncomfortable with the fact that this boy was frightened of him. Even more disturbed by the fact that some of his annoyance stemmed from the fact that the boys fear was overpowering the more enjoyably honeyed scent he emanated.

  
 Circling the individual before him slowly in contrast to his racing mind. Why did the smell of this boys terror make him want to loose the contents of his stomach? More importantly, why hadn't he killed him yet? By the time he saw the stick coming towards him it was to late. The blow had already struck and the sharp pain made Theoderek angry. He'd been so distracted by this youth that'd he'd allowed himself to be hit. A snarl grew deep in his chest, rising in his throat and ripping through his teeth savagely. Red clouded his vision and he swung his tail swiftly though the air knocking the boys weapon from his grasp. It all happened so quick that Theoderek wasn't sure how it happened. The boys heartbeat started pounding terribly and the stench of fear all but drowned out the scents of anything else. The boys own unique. earthy, honey scent was lost in the stink of it. It made Theodereks head ache and stomach toss. He couldn't think straight. Anger dissipated as quickly as it had come. The boy was diving for his stick and blindly the wolf dived for the boy knocking him backwards into the blood spattered sand, paws landing hard on the young mans scrawny chest.

  
 " _Enough_ " Theoderek thought fiercely _"Calm down_."

 

 To his surprise wide doe brown eyes met his own and the wolf could see the fear draining out of them slowly. Those eyes. What eyes he possessed! They were immense and deep...expressive. The amber brown irises were surrounded by long, thick lashes...They were exquisite and the wolf was lost in them. Dimly he recognized that strong hands were fisting themselves in the fur of his chest and Theoderek experienced an odd stutter deep within. Fascinating. What was this perplexing creature below him, with amber eyes that glowed with confusion that surely mirrored his own and a scent that made Theoderek want to run with the wind in his ears and the moonlights rays on his body. This boy... this mortal, made him feel alive. Made him want to be...happy?

  
 That struck a nerve deep inside. Happiness? Him? Ha! What was this boy? Messing with his head and causing disconcerting thoughts. Going rigid, Theoderek extracted himself from the young mans hold roughly, turning and leaving all but one body slain in his wake, the crowd around the arena stunned into silence.

 

  
***

 

  
 As Theoderek exited the arena he imagined how he would explain the situation to his uncle who would no doubt object to letting the boy live. Theoderek was prepared to deal the mans ire. The boy from the arena was a curious mystery. One the wolf was determined to solve.

  
 "Derek!" Ah and there was Peter.

  
 Shifting shape quickly Theoderek stood before his uncle, human once more fully unclothed and unabashed.

  
 "There's no need to shout Uncle, I'm not yet deaf." He wiped a bare arm across his mouth to wipe at the blood crusted there, grinning devilishly. "Didn't enjoy my finale?"

  
 His uncle, a nefarious man with little empathy or compassion sneered at him. "Find this funny do you? What will the people think of their King? There will be whispers of your heart going soft. Is that your wish Derek? To no longer be taken seriously?" Peters thin lips twisted in disgust.

  
 Theoderek? Soft? Never.

  
 Pacing past his uncle to retrieve the clothes that had been folded neatly and left for him by his most trusted servant, he began to shrug into a crisp white shirt.

  
 "So melodramatic, Uncle. He'll be kept in the dungeons of course. If anyone dares speak out about this I will have them punished."

 No one was going to threaten his rule, not now, not ever. He was King. He made the decisions.

  
 "Oh so you wish to keep him now. A little pet for the King? Need I remind you that your guards have already delivered two pretty young things for tonight's moon? Females might I add."

  
 Theoderek cringed to imagine the being in the ring screaming and writhing in agony beneath his wolves snarling form this night. He didn’t miss the note in Peters voice when he'd so elegantly slipped in the line about females either. Reaching for his pants he began to pull them on, thrusting one leg and then the other roughly into the expensive leather. He all but snarled when he answered the older wolf "I have no wish to bed the male, he is merely a curiosity to me, you'd be wise to drop the subject."

  
 Peter looked like he wished to snarl back and Theoderek welcomed it. A little scuffle was just what he needed right now to take his mind off the creature just beyond the wooden gates. Wisely his uncle refrained from attacking him snapping gruffly, "Very well then keep your pup." He then turned on his heel walking away.

  
 Peter had been with Derek since his father had died 20 years ago. He was Talia's younger brother. He was a tall man with cold blue eyes and shining blonde hair. Peter had an arrogant sort of charm about him and women would fall over themselves to end up in his bed. His uncle though, twisted man he was, never did really like them willing. He preferred his females young, terrified and twisted of all, resistant. Peter shared many dark secrets with Theoderek, being another werewolf and aiding in the decease of his father among them. They didn't always see eye to eye but he was the only family Theoderek had left and the King was damned if he lost him too.


	4. Lydia

 Silence followed the wolf's abrupt exit. Mezekiel gazed around at the puzzled faces of those in the stands. They gazed back. The large doors on the opposite end of the stadium groaned open and the snatcher, Lucien appeared. A deep scowl was etched onto his harsh features, his brown eyes flashing as he approached the younger man. Mezekiel spared him a gloating grin. He wouldn't be dying in the games today, a fact that Lucien clearly despised. He grabbed Mezekiel roughly above the elbow evidently intending on tying the younger mans hands behind his back but the latter had other ideas. If they were going to haul him away they'd damn well be hauling him away kicking and screaming. He would never stop fighting them. He would return to his father or die trying. Craning his head around Mezekiel spat in the older man's face, then brusquely proceeded to elbow the man in the gut as hard as he could before taking off across the arena as fast as his legs would allow him. The crowd of spectators gasped as one in surprise, Mezekiel ignored them. His bare feet, already filthy, carried him swiftly across the blood spattered arena. He was fast but the snatcher was faster. He took no time at all catching up to the younger man who suddenly found himself standing between the snatcher and the two guards who had been shepherding the young men out into the arena in the beginning.

  
 "You little cunt." Mezekiel heard from behind him before something hard hit him in the back of the head and he lost consciousness

 

  
***

 

  
 Mezekiel awoke abruptly with a large gasp for air. Eyes darting from side to side he surveyed his surroundings while sluggishly sitting up. He found himself in a cramped stone cell, thick metal bars lay to his right, successfully locking him in. Groaning, he slowly raised a hand to the back of his head. It ached. He wasn`t surprised when his hand encountered something sticky beneath his hair, pulling his hand back to survey it, he saw what he knew he`d find. Blood. Lucien had hit him hard enough to draw blood _._  " _Bastard_ ," Mezekiel thought wiping his hand off on his grimy pants.

  
 "Hello?" A soft voice called from nearby.

  
  Mezekiel recognized it immediately. The redhead the snatchers had abducted from his village. He couldn’t see her. She must be in the cell next to him. The brunette rushed to the bars, shoving his face up against the metal to answer.

  
 "Hey, it's me. I-" Mezekiel stuttered here unsure of that to say next. After all they didn't know each other. He settled with being blunt. 

  
 "It's me, the man who tried to help you in the village"

 

 "I know" the girls voice returned quietly. "I saw them carry you in. They said-they said you survived the beast. How did you do it?"

  
  Mezekiel allowed his forehead to drop onto the cool metal of the bars before him with a loud thud. Memories of the massive black wolf clouded his vision and his heart began to race unexpectedly.

  
 "I don't know" he answered finally. For some reason, one that Mezekiel couldn't understand, his life had been spared.

  
 Silence followed his admission. It stretched on so long that Mezekiel sat back from the bars resting his back against the opposite side of his cell, below a tiny square that must substitute as a window. Dark was falling.

  
 "They're going to come for me" said the girl eventually. Her voice shook slightly and Mezekiel could hear the tears she must be crying silently in the way it cracked.

  
 "No." Mezekiel said fiercely feeling tears prickle the corners of his own eyes at how powerless he was to help this frightened girl he didn't even know. How powerless he was to help himself.

  
 "They will. There was another girl down here with me....they came for her already."

  
 Raising dirt caked hands to his cheeks, the brunette buried his face there, dragging his hands upward through his messy hair, tugging painfully at his sandy locks. He decided to change the subject.

  
 "What's your name?" He called out tiredly. He didn't know if he really expected an answer which is why he was surprised when her voice rang out, echoing in the dingy cells.

  
 " My names Lydia. Lydia Martin. Yours?" She still had that strange crackle to her voice. The one that let someone know you've been crying. Mezekiel thought of his father. All the times he'd heard that same crack in his father's tone when he told him not to worry after him so much, things were going to be just fine. He remembered the nickname his father had so affectionately adorned him with as a child, _Stiles_. To this day, Mezekiel didn't know how his father had dreamed up a name like that but now Mezekiel decided to wear the name with pride.

  
 "I'm Stiles. Just Stiles."

 

  
***

 

  
 Stiles must have dozed off because suddenly he was jolted awake by the sounds of someone's terrified screams. Not just anyone's screams; Lydia's. Leaping off the dirty, cold floor the young brunette stepped up to the bars of his cell pressing his face against it tightly trying to see what was going on. It was night now and the only light provided was that of the full moon above leaking in through the pitifully small windows. Another scream echoed off the walls of the dungeon and the sound of struggling could be heard.

  
 "Stiles!" Lydia cried out desperately.

  
 Stiles could make out shadows in the corridor now. It appeared that two large men were manhandling Lydia out of her cell and were carrying her struggling form towards his cell.

  
 "Lydia!" Stiles gasped out as they passed. "No, Lydia!" He reached his hand out through the bars to grasp her searching one.

  
 "Stiles please! Stiles!" She screeched out once more.

  
 Stiles clasped onto her hand desperately. Attempting to pull her pack from the guards through this one weak link of touch. Of course it wasn't enough. Lydia's hand was leached out his own roughly and now her screaming truly got frantic. Stiles would never forget the sounds of her terrified shrieking as they carried her away.

  
***

 

  
 There was no more sleep for Stiles that night. He'd clawed and scraped at the bars and the ground surrounding them in an attempt to escape and reach Lydia. He'd pounded his fists into the stone wall in an absolute frenzied desperation to reach her. It was morning now, the sunlight leaking in through his cells small square and still Lydia had not been returned to her cell. Stiles somehow knew she never would be.


	5. Instinct

"I can smell him all over you, Derek. Have you really not bathed since this afternoons pleasures?"

Derek spared a glance at the grey wolf trotting next to him and bared his teeth briefly in annoyance. His uncle was disgustingly perceptive, this didn’t usually bother Derek but at a time like this, a time when he didn't have all the answers himself, it was terribly inconvenient. Thinking back to earlier, when he'd stared into the steaming, inviting water of the tub Derek remembered how he could smell the stench of death and gore on himself. He had relished in it. Sinking one foot slowly into the tub he'd inhaled deeply the hundreds of scents that clung to and around him. About to put his other foot into the large basin full of water the werewolf found himself coming to an abrupt stop midway in. One scent in particular stood out. Something so sublime he was thunderstruck anew, as if he was back in the arena, the tenacious young man with the golden eyes and stubbornly set jaw, still standing before him.

  
Theoderek didn't know what had possessed him to do it but he'd withdrawn his leg from the tub. His uncle was right, he'd bypassed the bath. Gods only knew why.

  
"No need to pout about it, Derek. It was merely a question. The boy does have a rather... _unique_ scent does he not? Who could blame you for not wanting to rid yourself of it so soon."

  
Something about the lilt of his uncle's voice in his head had Derek pausing mid stride. Had that been interest? A blind rage suffused the brunette. Before he could sink his teeth into Peters throat, the other wolf's voice snapped in his head, "Relax. Remember the moon. The sun has almost set and we still have to reach the cabin."

  
Still snarling, Derek raised his eyes to the rapidly darkening sky. They still had to get passed the wall surrounding the castle. Derek would deal with his uncle later. The human was his. His prisoner. Peter had better not be getting any ideas.  
"We'll discuss this later" the younger werewolf promised dangerously before taking off at a brisk pace toward the hidden underground tunnels that would take them beneath the wall and out into the vast forest.

 

 

***

 

 

Derek stopped short of entering the cabin. Something was off. A familiar sweet, earthy scent was wafting from inside. Subtle as it was, the King would know that scent anywhere. The man from the arena. He and Peter had taken to their human forms once they'd reached the small shelter and now Derek hurried forward pushing the door open roughly and stepping inside. Yes, he could smell the young man in here but it was overpowered by the scent of another. Growling Derek stalked through the shed angrily until he came up short at the door to his room. He could hear sobbing coming from the room and he crashed the door open forcefully. A pretty redhead lay chained inside on the floor as had many before her. She was shed of any and all clothes, her hands bound tightly above her head dangling from a chain that hung from the ceiling. Her small body was wracked with sobs and snot dangled from her perfectly structured nose. Red hair hung in tangled sheets around her face. Derek couldn't stop the rage building in his chest. Why did this female smell like the man from the arena?

  
"Look at me, wench." Derek grit out.

  
The woman had enough sense to obey him immediately. Her green eyes were like a frightened animal as they turned to focus in on him. The werewolf felt power rising in his chest. He soaked it in. The more she trembled the more powerful he felt.

  
"Do you know who I am?" He asked menacingly starting to circle her naked body slowly admiring her quivering form.

  
"You're...you're the- the King" the girl managed to stammer out in between frightened gasps for air.

  
"Mhm" Derek answered non-committedly. "Tell me about the boy from the stadium. Who is he to you?"

  
The redheads eyes widened in surprise. "You mean Stiles? He's no one. I- I don’t even know him. I'm sorry he tried to fight off your guards, I didn't ask him too, I- I- swear it."

  
Derek's ears perked up here.

 

"What the hell is a stiles?"

  
Fresh tears began to run down her face.

  
"What are you going to do with me?" She whispered in defeated tones completely ignoring his question.

  
Derek was spared the trouble of having to answer as a loud and terrified scream ripped through the cabin from somewhere else within. Peter must be beginning his shift. Derek gazed out the window up at the moon. She shone bright and inviting, large and low in the completely otherwise darkened sky. His own shift was beckoning him, not caring that he had many more questions for this girl. He didn't try to fight the changes, instead he welcomed them. When the beast clawed at its cage, Derek was always happy to let it free.

  
The girl chained before him glanced up in horror at his silence, eyes growing wider as she began to witness the moons effects on him. Eventually she began to scream too, thrashing to free herself. They always tried, they never did succeed.

 

 

 

***

 

 

Derek's thoughts were murky when he came to the next morning as they always were after a full moon. Slowly blinking open his eyes he sat up and gazed around the carnage he'd created and then slept in last night. Dark red blood covered the walls of his wooden room. In the center of it all hung the corpse of a barely recognizable girl. The werewolf admired his work. She'd been thoroughly ravaged. The young woman still hung from the ceiling so her arms were still fully intact, her head and legs however weren't as lucky. The littered the small room and served as reminders of last nights activities. Derek felt no remorse. This is how it had to be, this is who they were, his uncle and he. They'd had this cabin built in secret specifically for their needs on the full moon. Derek knew that it was better to pick a prey and bring it here for the night then to be left to his own devices and wreak uncontrollable havoc on the villages that surrounded the castle. Peter had taught him this. The full moon was the only time they couldn't control their shifts. They became the beasts they truly were meant to be, fierce and predatory. Memories were always scarce and few between, the only proof of what had occurred was the evidence that occupied his room now. Derek could remember one thing before the shift though. The scent of one who wasn't present here on the woman before him. The lycan would be paying his prisoner a visit a today. " _After a shower_ " he thought glancing down at the gore that covered his human frame.

 

 

***

 

 

"You're going to him, aren't you?" Peter asked accusingly following Derek down the corridor that would lead them down to the dungeons. The younger male remained silent. It was none of Peters fucking business. Derek was confused about the whole thing enough as it was without having to answer to Peter. All he knew was that it was time he and his prisoner got better acquainted.

  
"Do you have nothing better to occupy yourself with, uncle?" Snapped Derek irritably coming to a stop and turning to face the older man. He didn't want to be having this conversation, he was eager to get down to his prisoner. He wanted to feel that defiant, golden eyed stare on him again. Would he ever know why his wolf was so intent on the boy? Why it had allowed him to live? He was determined to find out. From his spot in the corridor he could already scent the boys rich and earthy scent. That scent. Had Derek ever before smelled something so exquisite? Derek's nose twitched as he started sifting through the different smells that compiled into the boys one. His fear. His blood. Blood? When Derek had left him in that arena, he definitely had not left him bleeding. Suddenly, an unfamiliar feeling began to rise in his chest. Protect. The need to protect his young prisoner, he didn't think he'd ever felt a more primal drive.

  
Peter just took a a deep breath through his nose a dangerous gleam in his eyes.

  
"What's this I smell, Derek. Could it be realization? What is it now, what have you come to realize?"

  
Derek's instinct took over. His wolf didn't like this man's tone. Especially when it came to the young man in the dungeons, just a few feet away from them.

  
"He is _mine_!" He growled out dangerously, baring his elongated fangs. He hadn’t even realized that the beast was coming out of its cage, he reigned it back in. He was shocked at his own words. _He's_ _mine_? _My what_?

  
Whatever his uncle saw in his face had him backing down immediately. However, his eyes remained cold and calculating. Derek had a feeling he had just divulged some very important information, though he didn't understand what it was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is much to still be explained about this fic. While I would prefer if the reader found out chapter to chapter I'm afraid it may take me to long to explain and many of you will lose interest. Here's the facts.  
> Peter and Derek murdered Derek's father to avenge Talia.  
> Stiles is Derek's mate.  
> Derek is not a good guy.  
> Derek's subjects do not realize that their king and the wolf from the games are one and the same.  
> Peter and Derek have been living out their wolfiness in secrecy with the help of a few trusted servants and guards.  
> Derek and Peter need to set their beast free every full moon, in order to avoid reaking mass amounts of destruction on their subjects they had a cabin built far in the woods and organized to have women brought to them for them to ravage and rape in their beast forms when they lose control.
> 
> If you have any questions or are confused by anything please ASK. I reply to all comments and really do enjoy feedback whether its positive or negative. P.s. Next chapter our starcrossed lovers will have their first conversation!! Comments are incentives to post faster *winkyface*


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